Enough Loneliness
by Tiquismiquis
Summary: When Gerome falls too ill to fight, Lucina's problem isn't caring for him. It's getting him to allow it.


_Author's Note: Happy (belated) birthday to Bonsoir! This was originally a hurt/comfort kink about illness we found, and she linked it to me saying something super coherent like "OMG GEROME THO". It's not sex-ay (can anything with Wyvernman be sexy?) but it does have Gerome being pathetic. And snuggling. And that's all anybody wants, right? Gerome's not too bad to write (he only has three responses: get mad, get flustered, or straight-up run away on Minerva), but Lucina was way harder for me and she decided this fic would be in her PoV, so I hope it's still okay!_

* * *

Gerome had been acting strangely. More strangely than usual.

He had always taken his meals alone, Lucina knew, but she suspected that over the past two days he'd stopped eating completely. He was sluggish in battle, lazy with his parries and hindered by his mask, and for the first time in their lives she'd had to watch out for him, stabbing through an attacker that came at his blind spot—whom somehow, this time, he hadn't been able to sense.

He had come by her tent the night of the battle only to apologize for his failures, and before she could say anything he'd turned his back. So she watched him go, realizing it would be unwise to chase him.

He was wearing that mask whenever she saw him. Most of the time she didn't mind, since she understood the reasons for it, and she'd once had her own need for a mask (which he'd even loaned to her). But sometimes it hurt, a little, to know that she was one of the people he intended to keep out. The only man she'd ever cared about more had been her own father.

Gerome cared for her too, she knew, although he never quite said so. Ever since he'd come across her searching for her necklace and helped her find it—a sort of teamwork she knew he made a point not to engage in—he kissed her hand while he never used to before, was constantly at her side in battle, spent long evenings talking with her as the cooking fire died and the others returned to their tents. Sometimes he leaned toward her like he planned for their lips to touch. Once they'd gotten so close that the bridge of his nose grazed hers and she felt his breath on her face, but as soon as she'd closed her eyes, he'd jumped up with a gruff excuse that such dallying was lazy, and Minerva needed a flight before bed. And despite the excited chills she knew they gave each other, he still never, ever let her see him without the mask.

Lucina dwelled on this as she cleaned Falchion in front of her tent, pitched somewhat apart from the rest of the army. She hadn't realized the sun was setting, washing her legs and the grass she sat in with orange light, until a great shadow passed over all of it. She glanced up to see Minerva, hear the _snap_ as she beat her wings against the air, and wondered just where in the world Gerome thought he was going, this late.

Sheathing her sword, she followed as fast as she could.

She didn't find him until twilight, and by that time she was out of breath and pushing her sweaty hair out of her face, but worry spurred her onward. He'd flown over the trees that lined the east side of their camp and was now in an open field, practicing on foot with his axe. Minerva was eating the remains of a large buck some yards away.

_He was just taking her to feed_, Lucina thought, feeling foolish, until she saw Gerome stagger mid-strike. She froze as she picked her way through the brush. Watched his chest heave. Watched him straighten and then twist, like he was being wrung out, before he dropped dizzily to his knees.

"Gerome!" she said as she jogged out of the tree line. He was on his feet again in an instant.

"Lucina," he said sharply when she was close enough, "what are you doing out here?"

"I followed you," she answered. "You've been…off, lately."

"I already apologized for my errors in battle," he said as he set his jaw.

"That's not what I mean."

"So what _do_ you mean?"

She couldn't really explain it. She just looked at him; tried once again to read his expression under his mask and once again failed.

"Are you feeling all right?" she asked.

"I am overtired," he said curtly. "Nothing a little extra training won't fix. I must enhance my stamina, for the good of our cause."

"And you know I appreciate it, Gerome, but I don't want you overworking yourself. No one will benefit from that."

Not to mention she hated to see him strain himself. He'd already been through so much. All of them had, of course, but Gerome was gentler than he liked to admit. The deaths of his parents had hit him incredibly hard. Sometimes even Lucina wondered if he was making the better choice, walling himself off from everyone. She loved and respected her parents more than anyone or anything. If she learned nothing from their passing, refused to accept that death could claim them again at any time, was she honouring them properly?

But they were _here_ again, _alive_, and younger and stronger than she'd ever known they could be. Why grieve when she could be spending time with them, savouring it?

Minerva licked the last of the blood from her talons and glided to them, landing at Gerome's back and nuzzling her neck around him, cocking one wing like she might buffet Lucina for the slightest offense. He leaned against her hide but chided,

"Minerva!"

"No, I think I understand," Lucina said. His wyvern was protecting him. That meant something was absolutely amiss, that he was weak. Who knew him better than Minerva? "You need to rest, Gerome."

He made a disgusted noise, shrugged out from beneath his mount's neck, and went back to his drills.

"I mean it!" she said. "You've done enough; come back to camp with me."

"With you?" he asked. "No. You know how I work. _You_ go back, and I may follow in my own time."

"This is foolish," she said, but turned to go. Minerva roared after her. "Yes, yes, I'm leaving!"

"No," said Gerome. She paused and looked over her shoulder to see that his eyebrows had slanted up over his mask, confused. "She doesn't want you to. She called you back."

"Well, her opinion isn't what matters to me," she said civilly, and left.

xXx

He never returned.

After dinner she was worried, and by moonrise, nearly frantic. He must have fallen again and been unable to get up. Minerva never returned, either, which made sense, for how could she leave his side, if they were alone and he was ill?

Lucina was tempted to bring Owain with her, in case she needed to carry him back, but decided against it. Gerome was cross enough with her—with himself, really, she knew—and letting anybody see him in a moment of weakness was something he would find unforgivable. Quite frankly, she was afraid of what it would do to his head if he were found in such a state, after trying so hard to become the strongest of them all. In battle, confidence was even more important than strength. And as much as she trusted her cousin, if Owain decided to start telling "The Tale of Gerome the Fallen Dragon King" the next day around the fire, she just _knew_ a fight would break out.

So in the end, she went alone, for she was stronger than she looked, and the adrenaline of her fear would aid her more silently than her cousin could.

She found him where she'd left him, and covered her mouth to find him lying still, upon the ground. Minerva was arched over him and hissed when she approached, weaving her tail as a snake would. For a moment Lucina wondered why she hadn't carried Gerome back to camp herself, but the talons she dug anxiously into the earth and the rows of teeth she snapped when Lucina stepped closer answered that question. At best, she'd rip through Gerome's clothes and he'd fall to his death, and at worst, Minerva would kill him herself by tearing open his flesh.

"Such a dangerous thing you are," Lucina murmured, "yet he loves you so much. You're so powerful that you can't aid him when he needs you. Does that not sound like too much power?"

_Do you see what happens when you value only strength, Gerome?_ she wanted to shout, but she couldn't with him splayed out, his face against the earth. When she got close enough to touch him, Minerva made to bite her arm, but Falchion was out of her sheath in an instant.

"I've fought a divine dragon!" she said as she pointed it toward the wyvern's mouth. "I'm not afraid of _you_!"

Minerva backed away with a low rumble that might've been a growl. Carefully, as much to appease his mount as to help Gerome, Lucina knelt before him and rolled him onto his back. His face and neck were too hot when she felt them.

"Gerome," she said, trying to sound stern, but her voice came out desperate instead. "Gerome, wake up!"

He mumbled and stirred, but reacted no farther.

"_Gerome!_" This time her voice was as commanding as her father's could be. He opened his eyes, glassy and unfocused.

"No," he moaned. "Please…"

"Please what?"

"Leave me."

"Gerome," she said again as she pushed back the hair that had fallen into his face, "you have a fever. I'm bringing you back to camp; sit up."

He did, with difficulty, and Minerva paced as Lucina helped him stand. They walked with his arm around her and his too-warm body leaning heavily into hers, but she could manage, pleased that he was at least up, and happier still when the exercise began to clear his head. His refusal to answer her questions of what happened wasn't confusion, but sheer stubbornness.

When they made it to his tent, pitched farther from the fire than anyone else's, he pushed himself away from her and stood at his full height. "I thank you. Please forget today ever happened."

"Don't be like this," she said. "I have to know how bad your illness is."

"It's nothing. I'm fine now."

But he reeled as he said it, so she caught his wrist and demanded, "Tell me!"

"It's just a spell," he said grudgingly. "Dizziness, muscle aches, and a fever, according to you. Leave me to sleep; I will be fine by morning."

"But you were _unconscious_ when I found you, and you never ate, and…" She sighed and ordered, "Ready for bed and wait for me; I will return with food."

"Lucina, please—"

"I'm not leaving you alone like this!"

He turned his back on her and ducked into his tent abruptly. Minerva watched them both for a moment through one yellow eye before taking off to roost for the night, somewhere close by. Assuming this meant that the wyvern passed custody of her rider to her, Lucina went to find him supper.

xXx

Before anything, she went to the stream and gathered a little cold water in a pail, sure she'd need it later, and grabbed a dry cloth and her canteen from her tent. She wasn't sure what to do about food, but luckily Stahl was already by the fire, making soup of all things, insisting that sometimes one supper just wasn't enough. He was kind enough to pour some into a wooden bowl for her without asking questions, and she hurried to back to Gerome's tent with everything.

She burst in without a prelude, unsure of why one would be needed, but stopped short when she saw him: sitting on his bedroll, still in his armour, fumbling with the straps to his left epaulet and growling under his breath.

"I told you not to return!" he snapped without looking at her.

"And I told _you_ I would find you supper while you dressed for bed. Why are you still wearing everything?"

"I can't—" He gave a frustrated grunt. "It won't come off. I'm too dizzy to see the buckles straight."

She set everything down and knelt in front of him to do the task herself, gently telling him, "Let me."

His shoulders tensed, but he didn't have much of a choice. She unbuckled his armour for him, pulled off his cloak and tunic, even untied the cravat he kept half-stuffed under his collar, a relic of the father he claimed to hate. When she reached to un-tuck his shirt from his breeches, though, he grasped her wrists.

"No."

"You can't sleep in the clothes you've been sweating in," she said, trying to keep exasperation from her voice. "Really, with your fever, you shouldn't be sleeping in anything." He sputtered, but she had more to say: "That mask must be stifling, too!"

"No," he said again, but made no move to stop her as she lifted it off. His eyes were glassy and his face was flushed, and she hadn't been able to notice two days earlier because of his damned theatrics.

But then, she realized, that was what he'd wanted.

"Gerome," she said, "propriety isn't something you should be concerned with when you're this ill. Lowering your fever is most important."

"Fine. But not until you're gone."

"But if I go, who will wet compresses for you? Who will feed you?"

"I can feed myself!"

"You couldn't get out of your own armour," she said, and the look he gave her was such a mix of such unpleasant things—shame, resentment, pain—that she immediately regretted her straightforward tendencies.

"Look," she tried again, "you're only here now, sick like this, because I needed help changing my father's destiny, and you agreed to aid me. So let me help _you_. Consider it payment."

"I didn't follow you for payment," he said, another odd mix in his voice. He was looking at her like he had the other night, the night he'd almost kissed her when they were alone at the campfire, and the commander inside of her took advantage of that to pull his shirt over his head.

"You can do the rest yourself, can you not?" she asked as her face warmed. All his training obviously hadn't gone without results. "I won't look; I promise."

His flush spread down his neck before she turned from him and went to get the soup, only turning back when she heard him slide into his bedroll. She knelt beside him again, but as soon as she had, he insisted,

"You must go. I don't know if this is catching. I needed help up until now"—it sounded as though that took a great deal of effort to say—"but I can fend for myself, from here."

"I don't want you to," she said. He'd been loved his whole life, just as all of them had, and again, like the rest of them, he'd been abandoned when he needed love most. She wasn't about to do the same to him.

"I've already been enough of a burden. This must cease."

"This has nothing to do with burdens. This is what friends do for each other. We are friends, aren't we?"

"Yes, but Lucina—"

"Gerome," she cut him off. "You know I wouldn't, but if it comes down to it, I _can_ order you to be silent."

"Milady," he muttered darkly. Even as one of Rosanne's knights, he'd sworn fealty to her after Chrom's death, just as all the other Ylisseans had. She'd often wondered why, in her youth. Now she thought she understood.

So she propped him up on his pillow over his saddlebags, and she fed him, and she rather liked it. It was good to be useful. She feared so often, these days, that her efforts in everything, from Gerome to her father, would not be enough.

"I feel like an infant," he complained once. "Are you—are you _enjoying_ this?"

"Your muscles are too stiff to even use a spoon properly," she defended, a little ashamed to admit her true reasoning.

When he'd finished she made him drink from her canteen (but let him hold it), tucked the blankets tighter around him, and then lay beside him, over the blankets, pulling him into her arms so she could stroke his hair. It was bold, she knew, but if _she_ was sick, it would comfort her. Gerome allowed it, resting his head on her breast and closing his eyes. His brow was hot and his hair was sweaty. She kissed the top of his head, feeling—just for the moment—like a normal couple living a normal life, comforting each other like normal people could.

"No," he said suddenly, roughly, and pushed her away hard. The rebuke stung but she gritted her teeth.

"Gerome!"

"You can't get sick."

"I'll be just fine," she said. "I haven't been overworking myself, unlike you."

"Leave."

"But who will comfort you?"

"Do I need comfort?" he hissed. "Have I _ever_ needed it?"

"No," she said softly, "but I want to give it."

He shook his head. "Letting you tend to me is one thing, but _cuddling_ is something else entirely." He spat the word out like it offended him. "That's like asking you to catch what I have!"

"You didn't like it, then," she said as she fought not to blush. "You can just say so." She was strong. She'd already lost her father once to Grima; being rejected by Gerome would be difficult, but nothing in the face of that. "I just thought it would help. You're a stalwart friend and I'd be a horrible leader if you couldn't say the same for me. Or—or more. But perhaps I simply misread the other night, how close you—"

"Silence," he ordered. "It was no misreading."

"Then why didn't you kiss me?"

"Bold as always," he muttered. "Lucina, I thought you of all people could understand. You wore the mask to hide from your parents, did you not? To alter fate as little as possible, because you didn't want to lose them?"

"Yes," she said as she felt her brow furrow, "but—"

"Don't be dense! You're afraid to lose the ones you love. Everyone is. I have been no exception. This war has only been getting harder."

And with that, everything finally made sense.

"Oh, Gerome." She reached for his hand, and this time he didn't push her away. "Nothing's going to happen to me. Not if I've survived this long."

"What a foolish thing to say."

"I can take care of myself," she insisted. "Myself and you and all the others. And if there was a moment I couldn't…you would be there to help me, wouldn't you?"

"Of course I would," he whispered.

"Then we have nothing to worry about. We're invincible. We must believe that, if it is to be true."

He looked as if he wished to keep arguing with her, and she only took the briefest of seconds to study his uncovered face: smooth skin, high brow, sharp eyes.

Then she squared her shoulders into the posture of a true princess of Ylisse, leaned over, and kissed him firmly.

He grasped her shoulders and pulled his face away, even though his eyes were shining. "This is irresponsible."

She didn't agree. His illness would have been nothing if he hadn't tried to push through it, and even if she caught it, she knew to rest. While she also knew that a distraction like that could impact the next battle greatly, it seemed more important to let him know that she cared. Sometimes, love had to overpower logic. Even Naga had agreed with her, there.

"My entire life," she said, "I've done what my gut told me to, for I had nothing else to guide me. So this time, I've kissed you. If I can face Grima's open maw, I can live through your cold. And now that I've kissed you once, there's no harm in doing it again. Or are you telling me that I am not capable of making my own decisions?"

"Never," he said.

So she kissed him again, hesitantly, smiling, and was glad when, after a long moment, she felt the corners of his mouth finally raise too, against hers. He kissed timidly, but she supposed they were both quite new to this, so she didn't mind.

She broke away this time, when he ran a hand through her hair, because the gesture reminded her that she should be doing that for _him_. He was feverish and achy and needed sleep. She pulled his head onto her shoulder again and began to stroke his face.

"I'm not a child," he mumbled in one last attempt to save face, "and don't need to be coddled like one."

She didn't bother to respond; he fell asleep as fast as a child would anyway.

xXx

She spent the entire night in his tent with him, a little afraid to leave. The later it got the harsher his breathing became, and she spent long hours bathing his brow and rubbing his back to soothe him to sleep, since he woke often, too sick to find peace. He was never close to death, never babbling or unconscious, but she knew he was _miserable_. She might have felt the same way, had he not occasionally grasped at her arm or murmured her name when he was halfway between dreams and wakefulness.

Toward dawn, however, his fever broke, and she caught an hour of sleep at his side, lulled by the newly-steady rhythm of his breathing.

She woke when he shook her shoulder, roughly.

"I see you're well enough to be brusque again," she said through a yawn.

"Look at the sun."

She blinked sleepily before she did. It was pushing itself in through the canvas, bright and cheerful. "It looks like a nice day."

"Day! Everyone is up by now; they'll see you leave my tent."

"Don't worry," she said. He'd gritted his teeth, and she touched his face to get him to relax. "I won't tell anyone you were sick. Are you feeling better now?"

"Yes," he said, and she saw he was sincere: the high flush had gone from his face, and his eyes were clear again. This was something else she wouldn't have noticed, had he had the mask on. It was so good to see him without it, newly-woken, dishevelled and vulnerable like—like he trusted her. Loved her.

"But," he continued quickly, breaking her thoughts, "that's not what's important. Where is my mask?"

Her heart sank as she found it behind her and handed it over silently. He'd asked for it before even his clothes or his axe.

Their eyes met as he tied it on. Held for a while. Then, hesitantly, he pulled it off again. She let out the breath she'd been carrying.

He never had been good with words. She knew that, and she herself appreciated actions far more, anyway. When he pulled her close and kissed her tenderly, let her touch his face, she understood he was giving his thanks for the night before and his apologies for all the days he'd shut her out. She smiled to herself, turned her back to give him some privacy, and worked out a plan to save his dignity while he dressed and readied for the day, putting his mask on last, this time.

"There will be trouble because of last night," he said. "It was foolish of you to stay."

"Don't worry," she said, "I have it all figured out. I know you'd be ashamed to admit that you were so sick, so I'll tell everyone that we had sexual relations instead."

She had thought it a great plan, but the way he sputtered and blushed down to the neck again made her wonder if she'd said something wrong.

"What, Gerome? I thought you wouldn't mind."

"Of course I mind! I'd rather everyone know I was sick!"

"Now," she said with a frown, "I know I'm not the most well-endowed, but—"

"Peace," he said to quiet her. "What you're doing is sacrificing your reputation for mine. I won't stand for it."

"That's hardly the case, if it was my decision," she said. "And it will be, make no mistake, when the time comes. Why should I care if everyone simply knows in advance?"

He raked his hair back. "Lucina, sometimes I wonder how you reached womanhood without learning _anything_ about this subject, socially."

"I know that when—" she started, affronted, but he cut her off:

"It is better to tell the truth."

"We could have relations now and then it _would_ be the truth," she said matter-of-factly. She wasn't serious, but Gerome blushed again as if she was. It occurred to her that he might be fun to tease.

"Fine," she said. "We'll tell the truth. But when we _do_ start to share a tent, I hope you shall not be embarrassed of what anyone else thinks."

"I need to scout," he said hurriedly, and ducked out of the tent. "Minerva, to me!"

A great dark shadow swooped outside the tent only a moment later, and Gerome mounted it without it even having to stop. By the time Lucina emerged, smiling, they were both too far away to shout after.

Despite his inhibitions, he'd pitched his tent so far that no one noticed her walk to the campfire from the opposite direction she usually did.

xXx

It was after sundown before she saw Gerome again. He slipped inside her tent hesitantly, almost apologetically, while she was reading in her cot by candlelight.

"How are you feeling?" he asked her softly.

"Fine," she said, a little confused—she was tired, of course, but wouldn't dare say so, knowing it would make him feel guilty.

"I've feared all day that you caught what I had. Do your muscles ache?"

"No," she said. "I'm just the same as always. Thank you for your concern."

"So it's true: the gods watch over the drunk and the foolish."

"I am not foolish!"

He smiled, a rare thing, but looked away. "Sometimes I wonder."

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

"I've been thinking about it," he said, "but I can't figure out why you would stay at my side. I allowed myself to become weak, failed my vow to protect you when _you_ protected _me_, and I have nothing to offer you."

"Did the kisses explain nothing?"

He blushed beneath the mask. "I am a lone wolf. It would not do for you to become attached to me, regardless of our feelings."

"Doesn't it get tiresome to always be alone?" she asked. He did not reply. She sighed and changed topics: "So you came here to check on my health, is that it? Well, now you know. I'm just fine."

"There was another reason," he said without looking at her.

"Yes?"

He seemed to struggle with himself before he snapped his head up and half-demanded, "I know you are tired from caring for me; allow me to soothe you to sleep."

"If you'd like," she assented with a smile, snapping her book shut and stowing it under her cot. He'd taken off his gloves and tucked them under an elbow before she added, "On one condition."

She didn't even have to say it. He took off the mask as she settled down onto her pillow, and his face was close and amused as he began to stroke her hair, just as she had done for him.

"I am strong again," he said as she shut her eyes. "And I will only become stronger. I will protect you."

"I'll protect you too," she insisted. Sleep had already started to overtake her. "Enough loneliness. Let's be a team, all right, Gerome?"

"All right," he whispered back, and she slept, relieved.

* * *

_Author's Note: Sappy Fire Emblem teamwork is the best kind._

_I'm just going to assume that Lucina's immune system is as good as the rest of her. My personal experiences cuddling a grumpy, sick knight-boyfriend have never once ended in me catching anything, so I think she'd be fine. Besides, a sick Lucina would be way too sad. (And I hope she was still IC with her complete obliviousness toward how the camp would react to them sleeping together. I feel like someone who doesn't realize she's too old to bathe with her father probably doesn't think about sexuality too much, or that some people are uncomfortable discussing it.)_


End file.
